For those of you who visit this site often, you might notice some subtle changes starting to creep across Jays XXX Links (the parent site of this blog).

First, we have removed ALL LINKS WITH POPUPS! If you are surfing my site and you find a link with a popup – email me jay@jqmedia.org and I will axe that fucker!

Over the years Jays XXX has evolved from much more than a simple porn links site to a much larger porn megasite on steroids. Jay’s XXX now includes an xxx thumbnail post, porn site reviews, free samples of paysite content, a blog (that is what you are reading now), an expanded gay section, and a porn site FAQ. While all of this extra content is nice — I have realized that Jay’s XXX Links has become a massive clusterfuck to the surfer!!

We are now about 50% done with the reorganization of Jays XXX. One thing you may have noticed is this nice new clean menu. Within the next month you will see a much more user-friendly Jays XXX Links that you are going to LOVE…then the people will rejoice…and feast on wombats, orangutans, fruit bats, breakfast cereals…

Well, I don’t know where I was going with that last bit…

Just be sure that Jay’s XXX to be the #1 place for you to surf for porn in the VERY NEAR FUTURE!

Enter PRUSSIAN BLUE — the new jailbait hotties of the White Supremest Movement…it going to be a bad time to be a niggnog, towelhead, or any other mud colored person! Yes, the skinhead / hate rock movement has a new face and I gotta say — I LOVE IT!

No longer do you need to hear about the oppression and inferiority of other races from a bunch of wankers that look like this:

It’s 2005 — spawn Hitler, the Grand Wizard, an even more jailbait version of the Olsen Twins, and voila — you have PRUSSIAN BLUE!

Now — hate has a cute face too!

Editors Note: Who wants to do a place a $5 bet that we catch these girls sucking a fat Alabama Trouser Snake on www.thugsandjuggs.com once they are legal?

Sieg hiel!

Want to get to know someone? Think you know someone real well, but maybe you don’t? Are you ready for a personality test that cuts through all the Freudian B.S. and breaks it down to four simple questions: “Gum? Cum? Guns? Gangs?- Which do you like? A person’s responses to these questions will tell you a lot more than you would think about them.

Before I explain why, let me tell you how I stumbled onto this genius little theory. One night I was hanging around with these two strippers (he, he - yeah, cool), it was quite late, we were drinking, and we had been using some “substances” (let’s just say these “substances” come in a pill form, are very popular at raves, and will make your spinal cord look like a garden hose).

I offered one of the girls a piece of gum.

She said, “I don’t like guns.”

I replied, “No, I asked if you wanted some gum…”

So, then she says, “I like cum!”

So then I’m like, “That’s gireat, but do you want some gum?”

“No. I don’t like gangs.” she replied.

Finally I held the piece of gum right in front of her and she took it. Then she says, “I like gum.” So then I say, “OK. So let’s get this straight, you do like gum and cum, but you don’t like guns and gangs? Right?”

She says, “Yes”.

I got to thinking about it and realized I liked the same things. I like gum. I like cum - not other guys cum, but I like to cum and I like to make women cum, so the answer would be yes on the first two questions. I don’t really like guns. They make me nervous and if I had one I don’t think I could trust myself with one. Every time someone pissed me off it would just be too tempting to make someone look like Swiss Cheese (and at the rate I’m going the mountains of dead I was responsible for would make the atrocities of Hitler and Stalin combined look like small potatoes.) As for gangs, I think the concept of a gang is good, but at the end of the day, it’s only bad news for the person who isn’t in one. As we all know the Crips and Bloods have not done a bunch for society these days (I was thinking about joining them both and becoming a Crud), and if you really think about it - the police, political parties, religions, and government are all just glorified gangs.

If you asked the same four questions to a variety of people you would be amazed at the variation in responses you would get. Like I said, I was 2 for 2 in that particular combination. But what about the guy who’s 3 for 4? 1 for 4? 4 for 4? I’ve spent some time asking people (mostly at parties) and I’ll tell you why I think this tells you so much about them, and it’s all open to interpretation.

Gum? Who doesn’t like gum? You’d have to be an idiot not to. It’s cheap. It makes you breath smell good. It tastes good, and if you don’t like one flavor - they make about a million more - I’m sure you can find one. If you’re worried about your teeth, they make sugarless. Be very wary of the person who does not like gum. It’s a character flaw - you’re cheap, uptight, you enjoy offending people with your breath, or you are not into new experiences (finding that right flavor). It might sound petty, but investigate for yourself and you will find this is true.

Cum? Now, I would like to say this means cum, in the broadest sense of the word - I doesn’t have to be your cum, it can be someone else’s, it can be that act of doing it, or it can be making someone else do it. When I say cum what do you think - good or bad? I would think anyone in their right mind would say “good” or “yes”, but a negative response could mean a lot of things also. A “no” would mean that person probably has some sexual hang-ups. Maybe they aren’t good in bed. Who knows? A person who answers “no” when you answer “yes” (or vice versa) is probably not the best choice as a place to park your dick (or pussy).

Guns? Well that’s a different matter…my reason for not liking guns is mostly because I would probably kill too many people. However - you may like guns, you may want to own one for your own protection, you might think they are fun - this does not make you a bad person. It’s just a philosophical difference, plus I think it gives insight into a person’s mentality. If you don’t like them - maybe you don’t feel like you have enough self-control to own one, you may know you have a bad temper, or you may fall to temptation easily. If you do like them you may covet power, you might like having authority, you might feel confident about your decisions (or you might not and might have one anyway), or you might just have a small penis and you gun becomes an extension thereof. It’s all subjective, but it can tell you an awful lot.

Gangs? Not for me, and I explained why, but some people do like them. Maybe they think street gangs are cool…I don’t see the good in something you get your ass kicked into and are considered a vet to still be alive or not in prison at 21 years old. People who like street gangs have low IQs and should be avoided. If you like gangs it means you like to be one of the crowd - you have to be part of something bigger - there could be some co-dependency issues here. Like I said - the concept is good, but the whole world will never be in the same gang, so get ready for a gang war. I would rather judge a person solely on my dealings with them and not as part of what organization they belong to. Like I said - government, religion, law enforcement…gangs.

Now I’m not saying that anyone who doesn’t fit into my ideals is wrong, but rather use these questions to figure more about someone you just have met or already know. If you really think about it, it makes so much sense - it’s scary - and these are just the ramblings of some drug addled drunk on a porn website. I’m serious, try it a few times…ask someone, “Gum? Cum? Guns? Gangs?” Do they think the same as you? Or are they some 0 for 0 or a 4 for 4 freak?! Are you a freak? Can you say it 5 times fast? Bet you can’t. “Gum? Cum? Guns? Gangs?” - even if you think my whole theory is total bullshit - it does make for good conversation at parties (way better than “Dude, guess who your ex-girlfriend is fucking?” or “Today at work…blah, blah, blah”). So you have nothing to lose and you might even learn something about your self or someone else.

A Hot Carl is performed correctly when you line the recipient’s mouth with saran wrap and then pinch a loaf directly into their awaiting open orifice.

A Sloppy Carlson occurs when the loaf is hot and runny (diarrhea) and forces a hole through the saran wrap, mmm.

My girlfriend wanted me to buy her roses but I gave her a Hot-Carl instead.

A Hot Carl is done in 1 of 3 ways.

1st: You shit on your partners face.
2nd: You shit on your partners face who is sporting a piece of saran wrap over it.
3rd: You shit on to a glass table while your partner lays down underneath it.

Yummy, no?

From now until the end of November: The affiliate who sends us the most joins to A Lucky Stranger will get to shoot a scene with the slut of your choice! Picking a girl is compulsory!

Tired of being a downtrodden Webster / keyboard jockey? So, you work in porn? Be a fucking PORN STAR!

Remember:
One moon mission doesn’t make someone a full time an astronaut, but one porn will make you a “porn star” for the rest of your life. OcCash is going to give you that chance!

The affiliate who sends the most joins 10/20/2005 through 11/15/2005 will get to throw salami to the pornstar from www.aluckstarger.com! If the winner is not game, the prize will be passed to 2nd place, and down the line till someone wants to step up and do business.

All expenses will be paid by www.aluckystranger.com. Winners will be announced!

This could be you! (pictured above / bottom)

Good Luck to everyone and please contact chris@occash.com if you are feeling lucky!

Here’s the famous GFY interview that everyone’s been talking about and here are direct links to just the questions.

I know there is going to be some fag webmaster that starts going off about how I am “recruiting surfers for GFY” — I am telling you in advance to EAT A DICK. If you are a porn surfer, want to read a classic interview about the guy who’s brought you some much fodder to punch the clown with for all these years — it is here. The rest of the stuff of there is just bullshit geek webmasters that think they are more important than they are.

I you want real porn gossip on what is happening with the talent — check out Pornogossip.com.

Tata,
Jay

Many argue that you can?t get laid at titty bars. I strongly disagree with this logic. If I had a nickel for every stripper I’ve slid my bearded blood bomber into, I would be a rich man. Well, I’d have a few hundred dollars, in any event.

Today, I would like to forgo the usual comical/satirical/shock theme of my blog to instead offer some practical advice that will enhance your personal life. I have put literally a decade of research into this. Take this advice if you’ve always wanted to serve your boner pro-bono to your favorite “adult entertainer”. This information was formerly classified in the interests of national security, but I am declassifying it now — just for you.

To draw an analogy: the pursuit of molesting strippers is a lot like fishing (note that I ignored an obvious opportunity to make a fishy smell reference, or did I?). The pond you fish in, lure you use, and how you bait your hook are conditions that will give you a favorable success rate, but first you need to ask yourself:

“Do I really need a stripper?”

There are some obvious benefits to these bitches. I don’t know how things are in your neck of the woods, but a lot of the hottest bitches in town are dancers. Indeed, the rate of bi-sexuality is slightly higher when dealing with this pack, as is the likeliness of threesome action when involving the civilian population. Good ones should make a lot of money. If you are a loser without a job, you can look at them as meal tickets in high heels. Of course, there are many, many reasons why you should NEVER get serious with one, the scope of which is too broad for this blog.

Ok, you’ve been warned. Still want to move on? Here are the conditions:

CUSTOMER vs. FRIEND STATUS: No, matter what you do, the name of the game is staying out of the dreaded customer zone. There are two types of guys in a strippers eyes: Customers and Friends. Customers are upright paychecks with beer. Friends are the people to whom they take the customer’s money and buy rounds of drinks when they need a break from those pigs. Friends have a shot at hitting the nappy dugout for free, whereas customers will pay $20 a dance just to have the nappy gyrated on their knee in the VIP room. You want to stay as firmly planted on the Friends side of the line as possible.

BALLIN? ON A BUDGET: It’s easy to hemorrhage cash around tit slingers. Here, I am about to explain to you why it works to your advantage NOT to blow money on these sluts. Spending a lot of money, just by the simple economics of it, automatically puts you Customer end of the spectrum. Under no circumstances should you start blowing your wallet out on tabledances — leave that to those loser customers. If you get hustled for a tabledance, remain calm, and offer to buy her a drink or have her dance for your friend. This way, at least you won’t come off looking cheap. She will get drunker, easier, and your appearance will improve — everybody wins. Also, it never hurts to say that you are an artist, a writer, a DJ, or in a band — any kind of loserish pursuit that brings in little money will do. Even if you have no artistic aspirations, make something up. Strippers are complete suckers for this type of scum.

TIME OF DAY: Most titty bars run in two shifts: a dayshift and a nightshift. Prime time is between 4 PM and 7:30 PM for the dayshift. The dayshift is a lot slower than the hustle and bustle of the nightshift. Dayshift bitches are easier kills, but generally are not as hot as the nighshifters. If you opt for the nightshift, your best hours are midnight until closing time. Don’t Arrive so early in the chick’s shift that she is sober and concerned with making money or so late that she is in a rush to leave — drunk, tired money-bloated hoes are much easier targets.

THE HUNTING PARTY: While it is very common to take the sausage party to the shoeshow, this is a poor strategy. Going alone is best. If you don’t want to do that, bring one friend at max. Take someone that knows the value of playing wingman. Every additional member of your crew will decrease your odds of scoring by 12.5%.

SELLING FIRE IN HELL: A good way to remain on the Friends side of the line is to avoid making the obvious comments about how great her rack looks, or the delicious eight-twelfths pitch of her ass. They’ve been hearing about how great it would be to fondle their fake funbags all day. These bitches have a thick skin; you need to come in under the radar. Loose lips sink ships; desperate comments like this will get you banished to Customerland, forking out your cabbage for their attention. Act like you are just “bored or came in for a beer”. Try to ignore the hot naked women if you can. Make it seem like having naked bitches running around with giant augmented titties in your face all day is commonplace.

BAIT THEM WITH DRUGS: It?s pretty well known that drugs are a daily part of most of these chick’s routine. At the minimum, it’s a good idea to have some pot to offer to smoke with them after their shift. Having coke, Xanax, more liquor, speed, or a combination of everything will assure that you have exactly the narcotic that fits your prey’s drug diet. Use the dope as a jumping-off point for riding the skinbus into tunatown (ok, there’s the fish reference). It’s an icebreaker. A ruse. Bait.

TITTY BAR POLITICS AND THE UNMITIGATED POWER OF REFERRAL PUSSY — When you do finally get the chance to hit one of these bitches, make your performance award-winning. Strippers are just like ordinary chicks, in the dressing room they get into nitty-gritty details of your cocksmanship — size, stamina, and technique will all become public knowledge quickly. If the reviews are favorable, expect other bitches going behind other bitch’s backs to fuck you. Then those bitches will talk to other bitches, and you’ll fuck more bitches. Unfortunately, this will not last forever. Eventually one will hate on you, or you will bone the entire shift (whichever comes first). Enjoy it while it lasts. Live in the moment, but remember that all good things must pass. Then you will have to move on and conquer another club.

Anyhoo, you Newbie Macks may wish to print a copy of this article and keep it in your back pocket next time you venture out. This advice works — follow it and you can look forward to a long string of infidelities with all of your favorite local exotic dancers. Just remember: hit it and move on. If you take one back to your house, I recommend taking the most confusing backroads possible to your residence, so she won’t be able to find her way back. Trust me, these bitches are nuts. I’ve personally dealt with enough loony shit to film five seasons of the next hot reality show, “WHEN STRIPPERS ATTACK!” (listen to the song - it’s MP3)

Till then - good luck, happy hunting, and remember what Snoop said back in ‘94: “We don’t love deez’ hoes!!”

See you at the clinic.

Jay

As many of you know from my blog that there are 2 well defined layers of sorryness and depravity:

1. Raising the Odds
2. Going Big

After the JBM Show this weekend, I am happy to announce a third level wanton behavior that has been discovered by one of my contemporaries (sorry, no names). “Raising the Bar” is comfortably nestled in between “going big” and actually dying.

“Raising the Bar” is:

1. Speeding at 90 MPH+ down the Vegas Strip with a 2+ BAC at 5AM.

2. Accidentally cockblocking by sending a girl running screaming from your vehicle and upon returning to ask what happened the only thing you hear is, “Dude, she doesn’t know what snuff film is!”

3. Gently ramming the car of the people you are staying with from behind repeatedly and expecting them not to be mad.

4. Asking some ugly slut in a nasty-ass dive bar if “she wants to go outside and fuck” because you’ve got a killer rental car…

And getting away with it.

“Raising the Bar” is not for weekend warriors and is linked to premature death.

Thanks to Dave Levine from www.sextoy.com – who also has a very cool party blog. He’s a hell of a cool guy, a very gracious host, and knows how to throw a hell of a party.

Later on The Rock shows up to party with Dave Levine (pictured right)

Very nice to see the company I am 33.3% owner in and very proud of — Occash (known for www.brazilbang.com, www.phatwhitebooty.com, and www.kungpaopussy.com) nominated — albeit unexpected. I know there’s been a few naysayers about the XBiz Award for Best New Sponsor Program, but considering our very recent past with XBiz and their little “misprint“– this only goes to show you that these nominations are not rigged.

We talked it out and settled our differences with XBiz without lawyers. We look forward to working with them and moving forward.

It is an honor to be nominated.

The XBiz Awards show will take place on Nov. 17 at the Key Club on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood.

Thanks Xbiz.

While I am not famous, I have lived a pretty fucked up life. I was born thirty two years ago on September 11th, and while I may have not lived thirty two Motley Crue years — I certainly have seen a lot more whacked shit than the average person. Having so many fucked up stories, it’s long been my intention to write my autobiography at some point, but such a project would be really, really ambitious; in fact too ambitious for a hack writer like me. So rather than attempting anything so noble; I would rather regale CJ’s readers with some of highlights and lowlights from this strange trip in my new series, Jay’s True Hollywood Stories.

My first story happened sometime in the spring of 2000, when I went with my friends, Mike and Juan, down to Cocoa Beach, Florida, to surf. We arrived early in the afternoon, and as soon as we got there, we hit the beach and started DRINKING HEAVILY. As the evening rolled in we decided to hit a local club to continue DRINKING HEAVILY. We left the club three sheets to the wind, but decided to stop at the liquor store on the way back to the hotel to grab another case of beer and a fifth of vodka — just for good measure. Upon return to the hotel — we continued to DRINK HEAVILY. We sat by the pool with our vodka, beer, and only a fraction of our brains still functioning; when two strippery looking girls walked past in the courtyard.

“Hey, what’s up ladies?” I asked.

Very candidly, they explain they were going to meet some drug dealer up in a hotel room to buy some five-dollar ecstasy.

“Shit, I want some five-dollar X!”

“We’ll go up and get it for you — just wait here.”

I hand them ten bucks and they wander off to another part of the hotel. We continue drinking and get REALLY, REALLY, WASTED.

“Dude, those chicks just scammed you.” Juan says to me, “They ain’t coming back. We’re going to bed.”

“Yeah, I’ll just give them a few more minutes.”

Not ten seconds after my friends go into the hotel room, the two hoes show up with the drugs. Excited that my ten bucks had not been squandered, I wolf down both pills.

“Hey, do you want to go in the hot tub with us?” one of the strippers asks.

Needless to say, the answer was “yes”. At the hot tub, the girls strip down to their t-backs, and we all get in. Now, let me again reiterate that I am WASTED – not like the “Oh, I’ve had a few too many drinks wasted….” – I’m talking about HAMMERED, BLITZED, ladies and gentlemen: MY GOOSE WAS COOKED. It was only then, while sitting in the hot tub with the topless hoes that the E starts working on me.

Then one of the two fine upstanding young ladies asks me, “Hey, do you want to see our pussies?”

So, I’m sitting there with two muffs in my face, when my brain becomes disconnected from reality, and have no idea what’s going on anymore. I just intuitively knew I needed to get back to my hotel room and pass out before my obituary would read:

Jason Quinlan, 28, Atlanta, GA - drown in a hot tub while attempting to softserve to two Florida strippers.

To the ladies disappointment; I stumble out of the hot tub, and venture back my hotel room. After I had mistakenly walked into a few other people’s hotel rooms, I eventually make it back to my room where I find my friends asleep in both beds. I lie down on the floor and pass out. Sometime during that night, while sleeping I am awakened by the sound of porcelain clanking around in the bathroom. I open my eyes, I can see that the bathroom door is open from the light shining out of it, but I can’t actually see in. I am thinking to myself: What the fuck is going on in there, and why is someone fucking with the toilet? I think for a minute that maybe I should investigate what was going on, but I never bothered to get up and quickly lapse back into unconsciousness.

The next morning I wake up, feeling like an economy-sized can of smashed assholes. My friends are already awake and seem to be a little bit testy, so I ask what the problem is.

“Dude, you kept us up all fucking night!” Juan bitched.

“What do you mean I kept you up all night? I crashed out on the floor and you guys were already sleeping when I came in!”

“No, dude – you sat in the bathroom for hours last night taking the toilet apart!”

I was like, “What?! I remember being asleep on the floor and I could hear someone else fucking around in the bathroom, but it wasn’t me. I was wondering what was going on in there too.”

“No — that was you, man! I tried to stop you a bunch of times but you wouldn’t.” Mike added, “Look Jay — you did this….”

He opens the bathroom door and there was the toilet; completely dismantled, laying in pieces all over the floor. The tank had been pulled off, that ball thing was pulled out, pieces of rubber and chains litter the floor. So I start thinking about it, why do I remember someone else taking the toilet apart? I thought about it for a while, and then it hit me like a ton of bricks:

I had an out of body experience.

The next day, I managed to put together what my drug addled mind was doing: Our hotel is right on the beach and I can hear the sound of the ocean. In Atlanta, my toilet at my apartment was always getting stuck and running at night. The noise would keep me awake at night, so I would have to get out of bed to fuck around with it to shut it off. In my whacked out state: the tides sounded like my toilet running. I am so off-my-block that I start thinking I’m in Atlanta, and go fumbling around in the bathroom attempting to silence the sound of water running, but I can’t. The Atlantic has been running for 4.5 billion years — there’s no way a toilet in a cheap motel in Cocoa Beach was going to stop it! Ok, that makes a little bit of sense, but why did I hear someone else was playing amateur plumber in the bathroom while I was lying on the floor? Yes folks, my goose was so cooked that I had actually watched myself dismantle the toilet from out of my body. Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up.

That was the day I tried to shut the ocean off.

Drugs are bad, ok?